


Scars

by teal_bandit



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Other, Parent-Child Relationship, Racism, Racist Language, References to Hitler, good parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 03:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17276630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teal_bandit/pseuds/teal_bandit
Summary: Pietro is hurt by a group of bigoted children and learns about his parent's experience with that same sentiment.





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moonlighter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlighter/gifts).



“Mama! Come quick, Pietro’s hurt!”

Marya looked up towards her daughter, setting down the shirt she’d been mending. She crossed the length of the camp quickly, spotting her son, gripping his arm. She picked up speed until she reached him.

“Chavo,” she cooed, trying to coax his hand away from the wound, which was bleeding quite a bit, “let me see. What happened? How–” she stopped. She saw the jagged cut and silently wrapped her own hand around it, picking her son up and carrying him toward their caravan. She took a rag and some vodka down from the kitchen cabinet and began washing the wound.

“Ow, mama,” the child hissed, tears stinging his eyes.

“I know, chavo, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” she soothed, fighting back her own tears. She’d always tried not to cry in front of her children; after all, in a world that seemed to spin all around them constantly–and with them being forced from town to town because of prejudice– they needed to know that she and her husband would be strong for them. ‘But this…’ she thought, 'this is too much for a child to have to deal with. Who could be this cruel to such a good boy?’

“Mama,” her son said softly, rubbing her cheek, “it’s okay. It doesn’t hurt bad anymore. Please don’t cry.”

Marya hadn’t noticed she had started. She smiled sadly and took the boy’s hand in hers, giving it a kiss before bringing it to her chest. “I’m sorry, Pietro.” She stood and grabbed one of Django’s clean bandannas, wrapping her sons arm. She held him close, rocking him as he fell asleep. He must have been tired from the blood loss and journey home. As Wanda brought in the yet-unmended shirt from before, Marya worried how she would tell Django what had happened.

_______________________

Pietro awoke to the sounds of his parents whispering. He raised up, rubbing his eyes and wincing at the pain in his left arm.

“What happened, Pietro,” his sister asked from beside him, “mama won’t tell me.”

“Some older boys from the village didn’t want me getting water from the well,” he explained, “and they held me down. They called me names and said something about a Hitler person.”

“Who’s Hitler?”

“Hitler,” came their father’s soft voice, “was an evil man who hated our people and convinced a lot of others to hate us, too. What did those boys say about him?”

Pietro looked up at his father with awe– he had never heard him speak ill of another person. Typically, if his father had disagreements with others, he kept quiet, even in the privacy of their home.

“They– they said he was right. That all ziganists should burn. Tati, what is a ziganist?” The child stilled, worried at the amount of quiet rage emanating from such a typically composed man.

Then, Django sighed, his broad shoulders dropping with the release, and rolled up his left sleeve. There, in black ink, Pietro saw the letter Z– the same letter those boys had cut into his arm– followed by a set of numbers.

“Ziganist is another word the gadje use for us–to separate us from them. To make us seem less human. It’s so– such a– a sterile term. So cold and formal… It makes it easier for those people to do horrible things to us. And to anything and anyone else they don’t want in their 'perfect’ lives. Those people–the people who believed Hitler and the things he said about us Rroma– they hurt so many of us,” Django trailed off, shaking his head.

“Did they hurt you, too Tati?” Pietro asked, lightly touching the marks on his father’s arm.

“Not as badly as others. I was blessed; I was among the last to be caged and the first set free.”

“Caged?” Wanda asked indignantly.

Django nodded, “they built prisons for us. That’s where they hurt us. Many of us were freed a few months after I arrived… Many others weren’t so lucky. They died before the soldiers came to help.”

Django looked over at his son, who had started crying. He stroked the boy’s white hair–so different from Mateo’s brown, but not from Mateo himself. “Chavo, what’s wrong?”

Without a word, Pietro put his arms around his father’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder. He held onto his shirt like he might slip away. Django supported his son’s weight with one arm, rubbing wide circles into his back with the other.

“Tati, I’m sorry those people hurt you. And all those others… What did they do to deserve that? What did you do? All you’ve ever been is nice to everyone. You work hard for others and you work hard for us… You’re a good man. No one should ever hurt you.”

Django felt heavy tears roll down his cheeks at the thoughts of Pietro crying for him. He was so blessed; this boy was so big-hearted and caring. Was it only eight years ago he and Wanda had been gifted to he and his wife after the loss of their own children? It felt longer and so much shorter at the same time.

“Pie, we can’t always help who hurts us in life. All we can do is be our best and try to stay kind in spite of the pain. You have such a kind heart, chavo, and it can be hard to stay that way. But promise me you won’t ever stop trying.”

“I promise, Tati.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by Moonlighter, who wrote "A Love Story". In their story, they referenced a scar that Pietro got when he was young. This is how I imagined that went.


End file.
